


Lost on you

by Ukthxbye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abstract, Anger, Angst and Feels, Blood, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, Metaphors, POV Molly Hooper, Poetry, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-The Final Problem, Prose Poem, References to Drugs, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Smoking, Wall Sex, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukthxbye/pseuds/Ukthxbye
Summary: One more day. Another day. All the same.Questions hanging on tongues answered by her with quick fire and moving on.She lands on her couch and thinks about dinner.But she remembers wine, she bought a few bottles on sale.And a pack of cigarettes, too.She quit years ago.She lights up one, feeling the calm tingling in her skin.





	Lost on you

**Author's Note:**

> this poem came to me late at night after drinking wine and listening to Lost on you by LP( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn3wJ1_1Zsg)
> 
> I do recommend listening to the song it captures the mood of the poem.
> 
> This could also be any other dysfunctional couple but there are a few hints in it that are pretty Molly and Sherlock specific. They were muses for sure.

One more day. Another day. All the same.

Questions hanging on tongues answered by her with quick fire and moving on.

She lands on her couch and thinks about dinner.

But she remembers wine, she bought a few bottles on sale.

And a pack of cigarettes, too.

She quit years ago.

She lights up one, feeling the calm tingling in her skin.  


 

Uncork the bottle and pour the first glass proper for appearances

She laughs, but for who?

Another drag and ashes in her sink now.

Tannins and smoke dry her out,

And she hopes that means no tears.

Bad telly?

One glass down and she re-pours.

Crisps bag like a bomb going off in her flat, 

Thanks for the reminder.

A scroll and like or two,

FOMO.

 

  
Greasy hands she just wipes on her jeans,

why not?

Well she hates it then and goes and changes to a pair of leggings.

One more glass then it’s the bottle.

Nothing on telly good or bad enough and she switches it off.

Oh but her mind has a great drama playing, 

to words he said and left

Like it could go back now with confessions in their hands.

But it’s him and she hates herself .

The bottle is so light in her fingers as she turns it up. 

The wine lost its sting a glass ago. 

She regrets worse things than tomorrow’s hangover.  


 

A book? She opens the other bottle instead.

Damn him,

Damn them all.

The second bottle smells of caramel and she feels it soothe her anger. 

Music then because then she can drink and smoke and move and

Random selected.

And she snickers at its choice.

“ _Let’s raise a glass or two to all the things_ ,” 

She has lost a few. 

“ _Lost on you._ “ 

It is always lost on him.

But fuck him.

 

She will dance and drink and some day

she won’t feel anything with enough booze.

One more deep swig

and she sways with the pain,

letting it destroy her and seep out like sweat.

She tosses off her jumper,

and pushes her hair back.

Volume up button 

and hit repeat

till her heartbeat disappears.

Second bottle almost gone and she feels the effect,

Light one more to balance it.  


 

Door clicks.

Maybe she knows inside her head

they can kill her if they dare.

Whoever comes through she ignores,

and she dances on.

Until a hand slides across her bare stomach,

and hips match hers,

pressed against her just right.

She passes her smoke to his lips over her shoulder 

and she hears him inhale it half down,

Bastard  


 

She is greedy with the wine, 

but his free hand finds its neck

and wretches it from hers.

Bottle upturned 

swallows felt through his chest against her back 

and set on a shelf as he twists her around.

 

 

Fingers snake up to her ribs,

falling back down like fingers on the strings. 

Who trembled more?

But she is done with trembles

and half starts.

She moves to the beat 

and away from his grip.  


 

And dances for herself

to make sure he watches

as if words might fall forth

But she is hopeless in that.  


 

And she wonders how greedy she can be

as she finds the wine 

and finishes the bottle.  


 

Pop goes the cork in the kitchen

and fumbling with her cigs,

Puff and blow 

He doesn’t share

And she doesn’t care.

Who owes who when it’s never been even

if she tried and he attempted.  


 

She leans and sways to the 

rhythm natural,

Slow and steady like a needle,

pain increasing to a bruise.  


 

His eyes never leave her.

She sees the pull

on the fag and the white smoke 

blurs his facade.

 

  
And she holds his stare

moving her lips to the chorus

and ignoring the threat.

Tears can’t fall now.  


 

She is beyond it,

and he is above it.

And her

eyes closed with bitten lips.  


 

Fingers back to her waist.

Her thumb slips between buttons

finding more skin

and stealing the bottle back.  


 

Wrong is their sin

And there is always hell to pay

but Hell always finds a way.

She’d rather feel fire now than air.  


 

Nothing left to take,

One more gulp.

Nothing left to lose,

One more drag.  


 

And she steals it back

and blows it in his face.

He licks his lips

like it’s his final meal.  


 

And she smashes the bottle against the wall,

Wine splatters 

covering like blood. 

Sacrifice and smoke,

but no forgiveness is found at this altar.  


 

Waltzed step by step,

her back wet,

pinned against her last regret

and the wall smashed.  


 

Pulses taken

and decisions made, 

grinding at resolve

to their wreck and ruin.  


 

Cloth the false veneer,

shredded with her fears

and cast aside

like all the waiting years.  


 

Teeth find their target 

stopping just before blood.

Her nails make no such promises 

with his concealed scream digs deep.  


 

Oh if she could tear herself in twain, 

she could leave this place.

Leave one to absorb the torment and pain

and the other free and sane.  


 

But sanity was long resigned, 

her choices led her to this moment.

And his pain found its perfect vessel,

cracking as it is at the seams  


 

Both find the ledge

and shove each other off

after all

they asked each other to

and it’s all they can give now  


 

Sobs pierce like knives, 

collapsing from the wounds.

Bleeding out every last bit,

cold creeping over as they fall.  


 

His hand finds the broken glass

and attempts to push it away.

But it slices his hand,

crying red where tears won’t do.  


 

Agony is familiar company,

but she lifts his hand

kissing near the wound

and holding it to her cheek.  


 

The temple smeared 

with the bull’s blood.

If only it was sufficient,

clean enough to rinse their sins.  


 

“I’m sorry” seems meager alms. 

Guilt trying to make friends with Grace. 

Mercy embraced 

but Grace leaves them burdened.

No Scapegoat to carry it away.  


 

The Veil shredded once more 

wrapped around the result. 

And weary legs carry them up 

and fall again to light on something habitual and soft.  


 

And morning light she hopes

will call forth contrition.

But tonight may be too heavy a debt,

and she will get the bill instead.  


 

Her sheets will soak his blood.

His breathing is soft beside her at last.

She laments lonely laundry the next day.

Sorrow stains every thread.  


 

She stares at the ceiling 

and thinks she’ll just toss them in the bin.

After he is gone,

she’ll throw it all away.

Burning sounds better in a way,

but she’s not sure where she’d stop.

She might burn the whole flat with enough fuel

and walk away from it all.

Because that’s the next step in sacrifice,

once blood spilled and life is taken.

Flesh and vessel must be burned to finish the cleanse.

Her hopes a fattened bull indeed and the smoke will billow for years.

 

 

Even if the sun rises,

the night still stands as it is

sticky from the heat.

And feelings are bitter at best.

She laughs to herself out loud,

he stirs and she cares not.

And finally,

there are tears.

They fall for expectation’s sake.

 

 

Hot against her cheeks and burning the edges of her eyes.

And in his sleep,

his arm falls across her lazily.

And she hates she even gives one damn bit.

It’s happened before with nothing meant.

 

 

Why can’t she destroy that desire and live free?

Doing what and who she wants.

Because this kind of love never lets you.

She’s only smoked it up til now,

but now needle met vein.

And she wants him no matter the cost.

 

 

How many times can he consume her

and she still survives,

she wonders.

She was wearing thin months ago.

Tonight he feasted on the shell.

 

A sound breaks through her sobs.

Breath pushed through teeth

and lips.

An assuagement attempted,

A simple “shh.”

 

 

And her hand finds his cheekbone,

tenderly at first and yet,

a crack breaks the silence,

and he speaks no more.

 

 

But he stays rooted,

as he has many times before.

Her hand stings but

God it’s a blessed feeling.

 

 

Control is their concomitant

alongside their chaos.

Their blood and bread

cyclically returned to.

 

 

Tomorrow is one more day. Another day.

Questions hang on their tongues.

But there is no moving on.

Avidity and altruism make a heady brew,

but they’ll find a taste for a glass or two

 

 

His arms envelop

and she accepts her fate.

Heaven and Hell, one in the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. There are bits I really love. Let me know any stanzas that stand out to you.


End file.
